ODD NOTES
"Plain and more plain, the unsubstantial Sprite
To his astonish'd gaze each moment grew;
Ghastly and gaunt, it reared its shadowy height,
Of more than mortal seeming to the view,
And round its long, thin, bony fingers drew
A tatter'd winding-sheet, of course _all white_."
In that very interesting book, "John Silence," Mr. Algernon Blackwood
remarks that cats seem to possess a peculiar affinity for the Unknown,
and that while dogs are invariably terrified by anything in the nature
of occult phenomena, cats, on the contrary, are soothed and pleased.
Perhaps that is why cats have so often figured in history and fiction as
companions of sorcerers and witches; and perhaps it was a knowledge of
their occult sympathies that helped to render these animals sacred to
the ancient Egyptians. These are only speculations, but there is no
doubt that cats are, in fact, queer and sphinx-like creatures; capable
moreover of inspiring an extraordinary dread and dislike (quite out of
proportion to their size and character) in some people. It is said that
Lord Roberts, bravest of Generals, cannot stand the sight of a cat. I
have known personally at least two people who have the same loathing and
fear; and one of these individuals can tell if a cat is anywhere near
without either seeing or hearing it; and I have seen this exemplified
when my friend has been assured--in good faith--that there was not a cat
in the house, much less in the room. But on search being made a cat was
found--though no one knew how it got there. And this curious instance of
perception by some "sixth sense" reminds me of an odd thing I was told
about a man who, until quite lately, was employed as a verger in Ely
Cathedral. This man, in some unknown way, could always tell if there
were any person in the Cathedral, although he could neither see, feel,
nor hear them. It is said that this extraordinary faculty was tested
over and over again, but the verger was never mistaken.
But to return to our friend Puss; another of her funny characteristics
is, that she always seems to seek out the people who dislike her, and
appears to desire their friendship, contrary to her usual habit with
strangers, with whom she is generally coy and repellent. Altogether it
is not difficult to credit cats with some degree of psychic power, and
probably few of us would object to their comfortable Tabbies or languid
Persians seeing ghosts and spirits if they are able to. But when it
comes to a cat being itself a ghost, the idea is somehow horribly
uncanny. Yet I know a lady who for a long while occupied a house in
Dublin where there was a ghost cat. I had heard a vague rumour of this,
and much interested, I wrote to Miss M----n for information. She replied
(dated October 17, 1907): "With regard to my 'ghost cat' I have no story
to tell, or cause for its appearance. For some time my sister and I were
the only people who saw it, but of late my niece, and also different
friends I have had staying with me, have also seen it. It is always just
walking under a table or chair when seen, which may account for neither
its head nor front portion of its body ever having been seen. It is
coal-black. For many years when it used to appear, I had no black cat,
but have had one now for some time, so don't notice the ghost one so
much, as we don't bother to notice whether it is the real or the
supernatural, but know for a fact it has been seen several times this
year. I am sorry I can't give you any further details, but not being a
believer in ghosts, I am afraid I pay very little attention to my
friendly cat."
One would like to know the _raison d'etre_ of that little feline
spectre, and there is doubtless some story connected with it that would
account for its presence could we but look back far enough into the
histories of former tenants of the house. But in a city or town, strange
happenings connected with any particular family are more quickly
forgotten than in the country, where such traditions are apt to linger
far longer in the memories of the local inhabitants. In a town, one is
told "such and such a house is haunted"; but if you ask why and how
haunted, you will generally meet with "I don't know" in reply. Whereas
in the country, if a house acquires a "haunted" reputation, there is
mostly chapter and verse for its particular kind of ghost, and often a
story told to account for the haunting.
But ghostly dogs are, to my mind, quite as unpleasant as ghostly cats,
and there is something very disagreeable, I think, about the following
experience of a person whom we will temporarily christen Mr. Archer. He
was a youngish man of strongly psychic temperament, and in the intervals
of business was accustomed to dabble pretty freely in occult matters of
all kinds. It happened once that he went to stay in a large northern
city, where he had some spiritualist friends, and one evening he and
these people arranged to hold a seance. Forgetting all about such a
mundane affair as dinner, they "sat" for hours, but with no result; they
could get no manifestations, and at last gave up the attempt, Archer
returning weary and disappointed to his hotel. It was then very late, so
going to his room, he locked the door, and proceeded to get ready for
bed. Suddenly he heard a very queer noise--a sort of rustling and
scrambling; and as he turned quickly to see where it came from, a large,
black dog darted from under the bed. Archer felt much annoyed at what he
considered the carelessness of the hotel servants in shutting the
animal into his room, and he promptly rushed at it with the intention of
turning it out into the passage. But before he could reach it, the dog
walked to the locked door and simply vanished or melted through the
panels, leaving Archer in a state of bewilderment hard to describe. The
incident as I heard it goes no further. But as Archer was presumably
accustomed to investigating supernatural phenomena, we may suppose that
he made full inquiries in the hotel as to a possible real dog, or an
already known ghostly one, though apparently without satisfaction. He
told the friend from whom I had the story that he had no shadow of doubt
as to his having really seen the thing, and that it disappeared in the
unusual manner related, and that, whatever the dog may have been, it was
no hallucination. Could it have been possible, I wonder, that the
fruitless seance was answerable for the creature's appearance? That not
being able to raise the powers they wished, the sitters had unwittingly
attracted some being from a lower plane, which Archer was able to
visualise, owing to the mental effects produced by a long fast and
bodily fatigue, joined to his peculiar temperament. For there is no
doubt that they who deliberately set to work to "raise spirits" must
take their chance of the character of such "demons" (to use the ancient
name) as respond to the call.
Traditions concerning mysterious "bogies," elementals, or spirits--call
them what we will--supposed to haunt certain localities, are to be
heard of in many parts of Great Britain. In Wales such legends have
always abounded, and innumerable are the tales of bogies said to
frequent lonely roads, and especially the neighbourhood of bridges. Many
of these stories were no doubt invented for the purpose of frightening
ignorant people and children, while others had their origin in the
brains of intoxicated individuals returning late at night from fair or
funeral. Yet it is curious how these old tales cling. There is a bridge
spanning a ravine or dingle, about a mile from my own home, which had
such an evil reputation for being haunted that until quite recent years
no local postboy or fly-driver would take his horses over it after dark,
for fear of the bogey that was said to sit on the parapet at night, or
that,
"Half seen by fits, by fits half heard,"
would glide tall and menacing across the road just where the hill was
steepest, and the gloom of overhanging trees most impenetrable.
Only the other day, a Merionethshire woman told me of an extraordinary
apparition seen by two men whom she knew well, on the bridge in her
native village. One of these men was a chapel deacon, respected and
respectable, and, according to my friend, quite incapable of
misrepresenting facts. Their houses were separated by the bridge, and on
a certain evening, when one man had been visiting the other, he said
jokingly to his friend, "Now, John, you must come out and see me home,
for I'm afraid to cross the bridge alone." So the two started together.
It was a bright moonlight night, and arrived on the bridge, what should
they see but the figure of an enormous man, clad in white, standing in
the middle of the road! Remembrance of their jesting words, spoken only
a few minutes before, flashed across the deacon's memory, and with their
hearts in their mouths they stood rooted to the spot. But the figure,
whatever it was, made no movement, and at last with shaking limbs and
clammy brows, they stole past it in safety. Then came the dilemma. How
was he who had acted escort to reach his own home across the bridge
alone?
My informant said it was afterwards rumoured that the two friends spent
the whole night escorting each other home. For neither dared ever return
alone. But in fact all they themselves really said when questioned was,
that they had waited what seemed to them an interminable time before the
Shape which they watched vanished quite suddenly and never reappeared.
Of course this tale is capable of more than one humorous interpretation,
such as that of an evening spent in overmuch good-fellowship, or as an
example of a successful practical joke. But still I give it as it was
told me, as an excellent instance of the Welsh "bogey story," of a kind
that might, I expect, have been collected by the dozen in our remote
districts twenty or thirty years ago, but are now rapidly being
forgotten. I have heard of another "b[^w]cgi" (as bogey becomes in
Welsh) of the same type as the above, which used to frequent a
cross-road some four miles from Newcastle Emlyn, and took pleasure in
frightening respectable people after dark. And still another of these
creatures of the night was supposed to haunt the grounds of a house not
far from Cardigan, and was known as "B[^w]cgi chain," its appearance
being always accompanied by the noise of clanking chains. This bogey
seems to have been quite an institution in the neighbourhood, and I
fancy familiarity with the tradition had bred, if not contempt, at least
disregard of poor old "B[^w]cgi chain."
A friend who lives in South Cardiganshire wrote to me of a man in her
own neighbourhood--still living--who declared he had once seen "the evil
spirit" of a neighbour, "at dawn, near a limekiln, a creature 'twixt dog
and calf, and with lolloping gait, not fierce, but evil to look at, for
the Welsh believe that evil people can take the form of creatures and
roam about, for no good of course. And though they never name it, and
would deny it to you or me, yet secretly, behind closed doors, they
whisper of the different forms taken by the evil spirits of neighbours
who are workers of darkness."
Personally I have never come across this belief in Wales, but it is most
likely the remains of a very ancient superstition peculiar to that
district, just as the belief in the "Tanwe" (to which I alluded in a
former chapter) seems to have been localised in North Cardiganshire.
Of course this idea of the spirit of a living person roaming about to
work wickedness can be nothing more nor less than a variation of the
Were-wolf or Loup-garou legend, which from time immemorial has been
believed throughout almost all Europe, and, it is said, still lingers in
remote parts of France, and particularly Brittany. Now, closely related
in race as the Welsh are to the Bretons, it is not hard to imagine that
the superstitions and beliefs of both nations have had their origin in a
common stock, taking us back to those far-away times when the great
Celtic tribes were young. Local circumstances, religious influences, and
differences of education have combined in the course of centuries to
determine the survival or decay of these old traditions in both
countries, and probably the "loup-garou" ceased to be generally heard of
in Wales many hundreds of years ago. But everybody who has studied even
slightly the subject of folk-lore and superstition, knows how long
fragments of some ancient belief (often so tattered as to be almost
unrecognisable) will be found obstinately preserved in perhaps quite a
small district, among a few people in whom such a belief appears as an
instinct which yields but slowly before the spread of modern education.
And endeavouring to follow these dwindling rivulets of strange old-world
ideas to their source is one of the most fascinating subjects of
speculation in the world.
However, all this is digression, and we must come back to our Welsh
bogies, for to omit mention of the G[^w]rach or Cyhoeraeth, which is the
most terrible of them all, would be unpardonable. Fortunately, to see or
hear one of these spectres seems to be very rare. Howells, in his
"Cambrian Superstitions," says that the Cyhoeraeth is a being with
dishevelled hair, long black teeth, lank withered arms, a frightful
voice, and cadaverous appearance. "Its shriek is described as having
such an effect as literally to freeze the blood in the veins of those
who heard it, and was never uttered except when the ghost came to a
cross-road or went by some water, which she splashed with her hands ...
exclaiming 'Oh, oh fyn g[^w]r, fyn g[^w]r' (my husband, my husband), or
sometimes the cry would be 'my wife, my wife,' or 'my child.' Of course
this doleful plaint boded ill for the relations of those who were
unlucky enough to hear it, and if the cry were merely an inarticulate
scream it was supposed to mean the hearer's own death."
The wailing cry of the Welsh Cyhoeraeth reminds one of the Irish banshee
legends; and though I have never so far come across any one who has
seen or heard the Cyhoeraeth, yet two people in Wales have told me of
death warnings conveyed by what they called "banshees."
One story concerns a Welsh lady, Miss W----, who happened to be staying
at an hotel at Bangor, in North Wales, and was awakened one night by a
hideous, wailing cry. Much alarmed, she got up, and as she reached the
window (from whence the sound came) saw slowly and distinctly cross it
the shadow of some great flying creature, while the dreadful cry died
gradually away. Miss W---- felt half frozen with fear, but managed to
open the window and look into the street. Nothing was to be seen; but
afterwards, as she lay awake, trying to account for what she had seen
and heard, a possible, though perhaps far-fetched solution, occurred to
her.
Next morning, when breakfasting, she asked the waiter whether he knew if
any Irish person in the house or street had died. The man looked rather
surprised at the question, and said "No." Presently, however, he came
hurrying back to Miss W---- and said "Colonel F.," mentioning a
well-known name, "a gentleman from Ireland, who has been staying here
very ill for some time, died last night."
Miss W---- was always firmly convinced that what she heard and saw that
night at Bangor were the shadow and the warning cry of the Colonel's
family banshee.
The other instance was told me by a friend, who declared that being
awakened one night when staying in the town of Cardigan by an
extraordinary and startling noise at his window, he jumped up, threw
open the window and looked out. And there, _flying_ down the street he
saw what he called "a banshee"-like spectre "of horror indescribable,
which beat its way slowly past the silent houses till it disappeared in
the gloom beyond." It returned no more, and the rest of the night passed
undisturbed; but on receiving unexpected news next day of the death of a
great friend, my informant could not help thinking of the extraordinary
incident, and wondering if the "banshee" had brought a warning.
It is a common belief in Wales that the screeching of barn-owls close to
a house is a very bad sign, betokening the approach of death, and
certainly it requires no great effort of the imagination to produce a
shudder of foreboding as the gloom of an autumn evening is suddenly rent
by the weird cry. And though I am no believer in what is of course a
mere superstition, yet the recollection of it came to my mind on an
occasion when I happened to be staying at a country house where a death
occurred somewhat unexpectedly. I well remember the incessant and
extraordinary noise made by the owls during a few evenings immediately
before and after the event, shriek following shriek, often appearing to
be just outside the windows; and though every one knew it was only the
owls, yet it would be difficult to describe the uncanny, disturbing
effect produced on one's mind by such an unearthly-sounding clamour.
This was only coincidence; but whether regarded as prophetic or not, the
"gloom-bird's hated screech," as Keats calls it, is not a cheerful
sound, and seems a fitting accompaniment to that hour
"In the dead vast and middle of the night
When churchyards yawn."
Mysterious knockings and taps, or the sound of an invisible horse's
hoofs stopping at the door, are also thought in Wales to be death omens.
It is said that in the old days of lead-mining in Cardiganshire, the
miners always used to declare that to hear "the knockers" at work was "a
sure sign" of an accident coming.
I once heard a story about a woman belonging to a parish not far from my
own home, who went with her husband to live in Glamorganshire, where he
heard of work at Pontypridd, to which town he betook himself, leaving
his wife at Dowlais. But a terrible accident happened in the mine where
the man worked, and he was killed. His body was brought back to his
wife's house at Dowlais, and as the coffin was carried into one of the
upstairs rooms, it was carelessly allowed to knock noisily against the
door. The widow afterwards told her friends that two nights before the
accident happened she had been awakened in that very room, by a loud
sound exactly like that caused by the bumping of the coffin, and could
not imagine what had made such an odd noise. She was thenceforward
convinced that a premonitory sound of the coffin being carried into the
room had been sent her as a "warning."
There is a house I know very well in South Wales where a curious sound,
always supposed to be of "ghostly" origin, used to be heard occasionally
by a lady who lived there for a few years. She described it as the noise
"of a person digging a grave," or using a pick-axe for that purpose, and
said it was most horrible and gruesome to hear. It appeared to come from
just outside the drawing-room windows, yet nothing was to be seen if one
looked out. Other tenants have come and gone since that lady's time, and
I have never heard again of the ghostly grave-digger. But mysterious
footsteps have been heard in that house quite lately, and by three
people who say they do not "believe in ghosts"; one of them, however,
admitted to me that in spite of close investigation he was utterly
unable to account for the soft footfalls he most certainly heard. But it
may well be that invisible presences still linger about a place which in
olden times was the site of a little settlement of monks, though nothing
now remains but the name to remind us of the fact.[20]
[Footnote 20: There is a tradition connected with this house concerning
a former owner who was a miser and died about a century ago, to the
effect that his spirit is imprisoned within a certain rock on the coast
about two miles away, where he is doomed to stay until he has picked his
way out with a pin!]
While on the subject of warnings and death omens, I may mention a
curious tradition connected with an old church I know in Pembrokeshire.
In a corner of the building is kept the bier used at funerals; and it is
reported that always just before any death occurs in the parish, this
bier is heard to creak loudly, as though a heavy burden had been laid
upon it. The churchyard adjoining has also a haunted reputation, and I
have been told that not even a tramp would willingly pass its gates
after dark.
Another death warning is the tolling--by unseen hands--of the bell of
Blaenporth Church (in Cardiganshire). This eerie sound was said to be
always heard at midday and midnight just before the death of any
parishioner of importance. But as far as I can gather, the Blaenporth
bell has ceased to toll its warnings; for an inhabitant of the parish,
who knows the country people and their ideas very well, told me she had
never heard of the mysterious tolling, and thought it must be a dead
tradition. But it is a picturesque one, and so characteristic of Celtic
ideas, ever interpreting as signs and portents the slightest incident
that happens to break the ordinary routine of life, that I thought it
worth recording here.
Another superstition (certainly not picturesque), which I have never
heard of but in Cardiganshire, was that it was very unlucky to bury the
bodies of any cattle that happened to be found dead in the fields! What
idea can have been connected with such an unsanitary prejudice I cannot
imagine.
When reading a paper at a local antiquarian meeting some few weeks ago,
the Vicar of Lledrod,[21] Mr. H. M. Williams, referred to the origin of
the Welsh word "Croesaw," which means "welcome"; and in explanation he
related how he came to realise that the word was derived from the noun
_croes_ (a cross). He said: "A farmer's wife, whenever I visited her
house, as soon as she saw me at the door, would take some instrument of
iron, such as a poker or knitting-needle, and ceremoniously describe a
cross on the hearth, and would afterwards address me with the words
'Croesaw i' chwi, syr.' ('Welcome to you, sir.') This custom existed at
Llanddeusant, Carmarthenshire, where I lived twenty years ago."
[Footnote 21: A Cardiganshire parish.]
This strikes me as one of the most curious survivals of an ancient
superstition that I have heard of in Wales. Of course there can be no
doubt as to the word "croesaw" being derived from the "croes" made as
described above; but the question is, why was that cross made at all?
The Vicar, who is a scholar and learned antiquary, and whose views
should therefore be regarded with respect, seemed to think that the
cross was a sort of sign and seal of welcome, as a man in old days would
set his mark--a cross--to anything as a signification of approval and
affirmation. Perhaps that is so; but my own idea (advanced with all
diffidence) is that the cross had a far different meaning, and that it
had its origin in the mediaeval dread of the "evil eye." A stranger
coming to the house must ever be welcomed according to the laws of Welsh
hospitality, and he might very likely be quite guiltless of the uncanny
power to "ill-wish" or "overlook." But to avoid risks, it was better to
use some simple charm, before bidding the visitor enter, and what could
be more powerful against malign influences than the holy symbol of the
cross quickly made in the ashes, where it could be as easily obliterated
the next moment, and so wound nobody's feelings. Again, the use of the
poker or knitting-needle for the rite seems to be a remnant of the old
universal belief that witches, evil spirits, and ghosts hated iron, and
cannot harm a person protected by that metal. Such at least is my
explanation of a most interesting local custom, which has become
mechanical nowadays--just as many of us cross ourselves when we see a
magpie, without knowing why--and perhaps by this time has disappeared
altogether.
Mr. Williams tells me he has never met with this custom in
Cardiganshire, but says that a curious little ceremony used to be
performed, about fifty years ago, by the children of the parish of
Verwig, near Cardigan. "As the children were going home from school, at
a cross-road before parting, one of the elder ones would describe a
cross on the road and solemnly utter the following holy wish:
"Gris Groes,
Myn Un, ie, Myn Un, aed mys moes."
Rendered in English this is:
"Christ's Cross
By the Holy One, yea by the Holy One, may gentle manners prevail."
What the quaint little ceremony meant it is hard to say, and no doubt
the children themselves could have given no reason for its performance,
except that "they always did it." But it was a pretty idea, whatever its
esoteric meaning, which would probably lead us back to the days when
Wales was Roman Catholic, and nearly all instruction, both as regards
book-learning and manners, in the hands of priests and monks. Then it is
not difficult to imagine some such simple charm or invocation taught his
wild scholars by the gentle schoolmaster-monk of the local monastery, to
help carry the peace of the cloister home with them, and as a safeguard
against the emissaries of Satan, in whose active power to work ill our
forefathers so firmly believed. And it may be that the slight element of
mystery--always attractive to childish minds--connected with the making
of the cross may have helped to preserve the little custom, when one
dependent on words alone would more readily have been forgotten.